I dug out spiders, roughly
from the sand, a parcel
underneath the playground’s
lands, in the sunbathed
mathematic
material tragic,
still unaware of the drain
that filters pain
becoming manic,
witnessing deliberately wasted
dead red foxes,
sending signals of heaven
from the bottom of
sewer pipes
the light
shining from inside
speaks of magic, sparkle dust
mimicking
life, it too was stuck
in looping time created
concrete, how soon until
i’ve conquered rocks,
so i dig for silkworms
under plastic slides,
i hunt for rabbits
under swings,
i poach the furs of bears,
with miniature cranes,
the marvelous engineered machinery
of hydraulic slaves,
and the spiders dig into my brain.